


Blueberry Bruise

by rosedolores



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Modern AU, but he doesn't know yet, i'm sorry this is just something soft with a little angst, loki brings trouble, thor is starting to fall in love oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 07:16:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17638253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosedolores/pseuds/rosedolores
Summary: Loki should be home sleeping, not in a dive bar on a Thursday night. Thor takes him back.





	Blueberry Bruise

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ  
> \- Loki is around 17, Thor 21  
> \- there is mention of Loki giving head for money, so please if that causes you any kind of distress don't read this, i love u
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sorry, I was stressed during finals so I had to write something kind and quiet  
> unbetad I'm just a lonely farmer farming by my lonesome self
> 
> tell me how did you like it, I want to scream abt these two fools together in the comments

The moment Thor steps through the threshold of the dive bar he is hit whit the thick air of cheap booze and hot sweat, settling on his skin and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. The whole place swims in dim red light, coming from everywhere and nowhere, and there isn’t an inch on the wall that isn’t covered with posters or telephone numbers. His sneakers stick to the dirty linoleum floor.

The flickering silhouette of a neon lady throwing kisses while holding a beer, with big letters under her tits; _Drink up, sweetie!_ covers almost the whole wall behind the bartender, and when Thor steps up to the bar he has to squint from the sudden harshness of it, making his headache flare up again.

Welcome to Frankie’s Corner. There aren’t two chairs that are the same.

“Hey,” he flags down the bartender, a round guy in his forties, probably got this place from his father who swindled it out of someone in craps.  

“Be a minute!” shouts the guy over the shitty rock music, then turns back to a woman and whispers something in her ear that makes her giggle, her cigarette-stained teeth looking washed out in the light.

“Of course,” grumbles Thor, leaning on the bar, trying hard not to think about that he really doesn’t have a minute.

He picks at the little grooves on the counter with his fingernail, and the neon lady keeps flickering above him in bright pink. _Drink up, sweetie! Drink up, sweetie!_

“What can I get you?” asks the guy, walking to him with lazy steps.

Thor leans over the counter so the guy can hear him better, “Have you seen a kid coming in? Reaches around my shoulder, black hair, skinny.”

The guy’s face lights up with recognition and Thor’s blood freezes.

“Yeah, came in a few hours ago, and when I told him that this place is off-limits for underage, he said he just wants out from the cold until his mom picks him up.” The guy frowns, and looks Thor up and down with distaste, and Thor never, ever in his life thought he would get this kind of face from a man like this, who owns a bar like _this_ , “Said his brother kicked him out of the car and left him in town.”

Thor grits his teeth, “He said that, really?”

“Are you that brother?”

“No, I’m the other one,” replies Thor dryly, rolling with it, but before the guy could talk he cuts in. “Did you let him stay?”

“Of course, what kind of man would I be, letting a kid wait in the cold,” says the guy with indignation, and Thor almost sees a heart of gold under that stained wife-beater.

“Well?” asks Thor.

“Well what?”

Thor takes a deep breath, filling up his lungs with stale air and too strong perfume, “Where is he now?”

“Well, I don’t know! Listen here, big guy, I’m not a babysitter, he promised he would behave, so I left it at that. It's your kin, you gotta look after him yourself.”

That is exactly what Thor has been trying to do for the past two hours, in the dead of the night, in a nowhere town down the mountains, in his fucking sweatpants, a ratty T-shirt and a hoodie, with only a pack of mint gum and his car keys on him.

“Thanks,” he bites out, already turning away.

He starts making his round, staying close to the wall so he can spot Loki before he could see him and scatter away. Thor guesses it wouldn’t make too much of a difference though, there aren’t many places left in this town for Loki to go to.

Everyone in this rathole is pissed. It's Thursday.

When he sees a woman with a big blond updo and huge plastic earrings, who seems reasonably sober he decides that she is as good a chance for information as any, but two girls are suddenly caging him in, hanging from his arms, almost slamming him back to the wall. He feels like a bug pinned.

“Ladies,” he smiles down at them tight-lipped, but the girls just laugh with such a shrill voice he almost goes deaf. College, then.

“Hello there,” singsongs one of them and giggles, “Priscilla and I– oh, this is Priscilla,” she waves her hand around her friend.

“Hey,” says Priscilla and hugs his arm tighter, pressing her body against him.

The other flips her long hair over her shoulder, “and my name is Abigail, hello.”

“Nice to meet you,” says Thor, because his mother didn’t raise him without manners, but he really fucking wishes they would just go away. Too bad, Abigail has nice lips.

“We were thinking, would you like to have a few drinks with us?” Abigail blinks slowly up at him, “or something else.”

“Something fun,” says Priscilla with a dreamy sigh.

“No, thank you,” Thor says, and wonders if he will regret this tomorrow, but powers on, “actually, I was looking for someone–”

But then Priscilla speaks over him, disappointed, “Oh, you are here for him? He is in the men’s bathroom.”

Thor shuts his mouth with a click.

“But let me tell you,” Abigail reaches up and puts a hand around his shoulder, and Thor goes rigid, “uhm, what did you say, what was your name?”

He didn’t want to say. “Thor.”

“Right, Thor, we could be so good to you. Way better than him,” smiles at him Abigail, caressing his neck.

“What?” he asks dumbly, and he feels the cold sweat on his palms. Maybe he is wrong. He wants to be wrong.

He looks up from the girls, wildly searching for the toilet sign, and he founds it tucked into a corner on the far end, big black ugly letters, under it two doors that are barely hanging on their hinges.  

One of them swings open, and a guy steps out, zipping up his pants, his face radiating such disgusting contentment Thor tastes bile at the sight of it.

“I have to go,” Thor shakes off the two girls, striding towards the toilet, stepping around people. The music thuds just as hard as his heart, but he barely hears it, the blood rushing through him makes the whole place go into a white-noise filled vacuum. Let him be wrong. Let him be wrong.

Thor almost rips off the door when he opens it, and Loki, _Loki_ , leaning against one of the stalls jumps a little, tucking money away in his pocket.

 “Aren’t you impatient–” he starts to say, but then turns to Thor and shuts up. It's like a different world here with the music slowly dripping through the walls, muted. Thor is at him in two steps, grabbing at his shirt collar, and drags him up to him.

“Thor this–” Loki says, almost panicked, pushing at Thor’s hand to still him.

“Are you hurt?”

“W-what?”

“Are you fucking hurt?” asks Thor again, forcing himself not to shout.

“No I–”

Thor doesn’t wait for Loki to finish, lets him go only to grab his forearm and pull him out of the bathroom, through the whole hellplace, Loki worryingly silent behind him, and as he kicks open the front door and ushers him out, he gets a last glance at the neon lady throwing him a goodbye kiss. _Drink up, sweetie!_  The neon burns in his mind as he follows after Loki.

He guides Loki to the alley next to the bar, his shoulder cold under his palm even through his shirt, and pushes him into the dark, against the crumbling brick wall, and _now_ , he lets himself breathe.

Thor looks down at Loki, but he stares out to the street with a defiant face, his jaw tight.

“Loki,” he says, voice hard.

Loki doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even look his way. Fucking hell.

He forces himself to be calm because there are priorities, but his skin still feels too hot for him, the back of his neck damp even with the sudden rush of cold.

“Did you have to do anything you didn’t want?” he asks.

Loki whips his head around, furious, “Of course I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want, don’t be stupid.”

Angry is good, Thor can do with angry.

“Then tell me this, what the fuck were you thinking?” Thor hisses.

Loki scoffs and crosses his arms, staring up at him, “Mixing business with pleasure.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” grits out Thor, turning his head away, looking deeper into the alley, seeing dumpsters, with lousy graffitis on them, lining along the walls, trash bags scattered around, some of them ripped out, and thinks that a few hours ago he was in bed, sleeping, not smelling piss and vomit.

When he looks back, Loki smiles up at him unkind, his lips shining in the yellow light of the buzzing street lamp–

“At least wipe your goddamn mouth,” growls Thor, and as he brings up his arm to rub at Loki’s mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie, only now he realizes how much his hands tremble.  

Loki tries to shake him off, but Thor holds him by the back of his neck, his hair soft under his palm. When he finishes he keeps his hold, tipping Loki’s head up so he can see his eyes, red-rimmed, his lashes sticking together. Thor doesn’t think about any of it.

“Did you drink anything?”

Loki clicks his tongue, impatient, jerking his head from his hand, “No,” he says, then his mouth pulls to a mean smile, “didn’t want to hurl on their dicks.”

Thor swallows down the knife in his throat. Someone whistles at them from the street, a group shouting and laughing stumble past and Thor sighs heavily, turning to walk to the street across the bar, where he left the car parked up on the curb.

“Come on,” he tugs Loki from the wall and leads him, his hand staying on his back the whole time. Like he is going to let go of him now.

Loki makes a face as he unlocks the car, opening the passenger door for him, “I don’t want to go home yet.”

Thor grips the top of the door so hard, the smooth edge of it cuts into his palm painfully. He keeps his voice level, “I’m not offering a choice.”

“You can't make me,” says Loki, and it's such a teenager thing to say, Thor would laugh if he wouldn’t be moments away from going back to find that guy and beat him until he stops feeling like he is too big for his skin.

“Get in the car,” is all he says.

Loki doesn’t move for a few moments, his skin pale-warm in the streetlight, looking at him with his dark eyes, like Thor should know better than this. Like Thor should _know_ what to do. Thor can't explain it to Loki that he doesn’t know how to handle this situation. He doesn’t even know how to handle _Loki._ He has never met anyone like him before.

Never will, this at least he knows.

Loki’s eyes flutter away from him, looking past his shoulder with a stoic face, his chin pointed high, and Thor can already see under the jeans and too big T-shirt the will-be-Loki in five, ten years, all sharp edges and clean cuts. He will leave no prisoners in his wake.

Loki climbs in, moving silently like a ghost, and Thor shuts the door.

“Here,” he says, after he sat down behind the wheel, handing a can of coke to Loki. Thor found it in the cup holder, it's already opened and he probably drank half of it a day ago, but better than nothing, “wash out your mouth.”

He starts the car as Loki slurps noisily, looking at him pointedly while he swirls it around in his mouth, then rolling down the window so he can spit it out on the pavement, the loud splash echoing through the quiet.

Window rolled back, Loki sinks back in, drinking the rest of it like it's a three course meal in itself, then drops the can on the floor. Thor frowns, but says nothing. He has to choose his battles tonight, he can't go ramming at Loki for everything.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go then,” Loki says flippant, but Thor sees him shift in his seat, his hands clenching down on the leather for a second, and sees the goosebumps raising on his arm even in the shadows.

It's such a private sight, like the right to see this kind of vulnerability in Loki is something that should be earned with time and work and blood. Thor feels like he stole something.

“You could have brought a jacket,” he mutters, the last words muffled through his hoodie as he tugs it over his head. At least this gives him something to do with himself.

He holds it out for Loki, who pulls his mouth and takes it, but thank God doesn’t say anything. Thor bumps up the heat as well, just in case. Not that it really matters, by the time the car heats up they will be home. The night of futile efforts.

“Would be hard selling the ‘I came in from the cold, please Mister’ act with a two layer thermal fleece coat hanging off my back,” Loki says amused, popping out his head from the hoodie, his hair sticking to his forehead then flapping up again. “Besides, it's not _that_ cold.”

“Right,” Thor nods, pulling out, thinking that he doesn’t want to know Loki’s tricks.   

“Huh, I hadn’t thought you were _this_ big,” Loki says with wonder, rolling up the sleeves until at least his hands are free.

As they drive through town Thor keeps stealing glances at Loki, because everything around him – the silent streets hiding their houses in the shadows of trees, the motel with its burnt out sign and the circles of teenagers crowding together in the parking lot - bicycles thrown around, not a care in the world because the world won't come here for them, the pink building of the thrift store, windows all boarded up – seems surreal, leaving Thor feeling entirely like an outsider, something that doesn’t belong here, but when he looks at Loki, he seems a part of them all too. Looking out the window, his cheek leaned against his knuckles, the mismatched lights of the passing streetlamps playing with shadows on his wild-black hair, the straight line of nose, his jaw, and he looks like a piece of this town already. They have been here for only two weeks, and Loki has already made all of this his. Give him time, he outgrows it all, gets bored and disinterested, will go and find a new victim, there is not a place on earth that is enough for him. He will buy the world for ninety-nine cents.

“Oh, there is a waffle house,” Loki points down the road. What he wants goes unsaid.

“I don’t have money on me,” replies Thor, taking a turn left, the blinker clicking-clacking. They are almost out of the town, then it's a serpentine of smooth concrete up, through the woods. Almost.

“But I do,” turns to him Loki.

Thor’s stomach lurches, “yeah, you won't be spending that,” he says, staring ahead.

“I’m hungry, and I will spend my money on whatever I want. So turn back, and I will get out,” Loki’s voice is too even.

“No,” Thor speeds up, they are approaching an intersection. Almost out of the town.

“I will spend that money, Thor,” Loki says.

“Not the money you got from sucking dick in a fucking dive bar,” Thor says harsh, slamming the heel of his hand against the curve of the wheel. He shifts gear with force, accelerates, through the intersection, the yellow light blinking to red. Out, out.

Loki stays silent, and Thor feels his too-dark eyes on him, picking him apart, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of him.

Thor drives until he can see the sign marking the edge of town. _You are now leaving Blueridge_ and under it with white overly curly letters, _Come back soon!_

The tires grumble on the hard dirt and gravel as Thor pulls off the road, and parks the car right before it, the headlights flashing on the rusty edges before he shuts them off. They will talk and leave everything here before this sign, a strange epitaph for the night they will bury here.

Loki doesn’t say anything but he stiffens in his seat, his long legs scarping against the floor, bumping into the dropped can, the rattling of it too loud in the sudden quiet.

Thor swallows and looks past Loki, out the window at the whispering pine trees with thick blackness between them, “Loki.”

Loki looks at him immediately, his face taut, gaze hard, so young but ready to burn already. Thor is glad he didn’t flick on the dome light, he doesn’t want to see him in full light, he doesn’t. Even this is too much.

“What?”

“Listen, you have to give me that money,” says Thor, trying very hard to sound calm and reasonable. God knows he still feels like he could tear the sky down.

A cruel laugh, “why would I do that?”

“You having that kind of money is not right. You know that. Loki. You know that,” Thor says, hoping, desperate. If Loki gives him this they don’t have to claw at each other like two rabid dogs.

Loki turns fully to Thor, thumping his back hard against the door, bringing his foot up on the edge of the seat, building a wall, “What I know is that it's none of your business. All this is none of your business,” he circles his hand around them lazily, and that alone makes the muscle jump in Thor’s jaw.

“What, that you whore yourself out?” he bites out.

Loki leans forward with a sneer, but Thor doesn’t let him say anything, “Is it not my business that one day you will say stop, and they won't stop? What will happen, then? What will you do?”

“I never asked for any help, especially not from _you_ ,” says Loki, spitting the words out like they are something disgusting.

Thor breathes out through his nose, staring down Loki.

“Tough luck.” He holds out his hand, palm up, “The money, Loki.”

Loki glares up at him, and fuck, Thor feels his hatred, a heavy pressure that weighs on him, but he has to do this.

“We get home, you can take however much is in my wallet, if it doesn’t cover it, I will give you more,” he says, like this would solve anything.

“Because your money is so much better, right, Thor? Because it's not _dirty_. You know what, here, you fucking–” Loki frantically digs around his pockets, his movements sharp and angry, and Thor hears him hit his elbow against the door. He pulls out a stack of cash and throws it at him. “There, be happy.”

It hits him in the chest, and Thor catches it before it could fall. It feels like it burnt him. He flattens the bills out but doesn’t count them, he can barely stand to look at them as he tears them, once, twice. He rolls downs his window and lets the pieces fall from his hand.

The way through the woods is dark and quiet, and Loki has turned away from him, tucked his shoulder into the seat, been staring out the window ever since. Thor looks at Loki’s back, slim and defiant, then back at the road that exists only in the white lights of the headlights, building up from nothing in front of them, and ceasing to exist behind them.

He brushes his thumb against the underside of the wheel, again and again, feeling the leather worn and smooth, and wonders if there is anything left to say.

The exterior lights glow warm and welcoming as Thor pulls to a slow stop in front of the gate as it opens for them, the driveway leading up to the house. It's big. It's only their summer house.

He parks the car a little further from the garage, so he doesn’t wake up his parents, then gets out, and carefully shuts the door. Loki still hasn’t moved.

Thor sighs and walks to his door and opens it for him, “Come on,” he says quietly. The wind picks up as Loki climbs out, the chill playing on Thor’s skin, rustling Loki’s unruly hair. “We are going in through the back.”

They go around the house, their steps muffled on the perfect grass, two thieves in the night with nothing to steal.

They walk up the steps to the patio, curving up like the spine of a snake. Thor catches Loki skimming his fingers along the stone handrail, and in the moonlight his hand seems just as bone-white.

Thor left the terrace door open a crack, and he slips his fingers in, opening it painstakingly slow, then steps in. He turns so he can close it after Loki, but he is still standing outside, looking up the sky.

Thor follows his gaze, and sees the stars, clear and so close, they could pluck them down like ripe apples from a tree, then looks back at Loki, and he is watching him, eyes like oil spills swallowing him whole.

Vertigo hits him as suddenly as it leaves. It's almost like he felt the earth move.

_What do you want?_

“Loki,” he calls out to him.

Loki comes in, his steps silent, taking his shoes off, but when Thor sees him heading towards his room he catches his arm, shaking his head.

“You are staying with me,” he says, the quiet of the house closing in on them.

Loki furrows his brows, whole body going rigid, “What? Why?”

“You have to walk past their bedroom, and if Mom catches you smelling like an alcoholic, she will know, and I will get fucked,” Thor whispers, fast, because they should be in his room already.

“Oh my God, why are you–” Loki whispers back angrily, but Thor pulls him closer, his hand easily closing around his upper arm.

“Please, not now. I’m tired,” he breathes, pleading. He knows the other reason he is asking Loki to stay with him is because he has been wound up all night, his head filled with the worst what-ifs as he was searching for Loki, and Thor also knows no matter how exhausted he might be, he wouldn’t get a blink of sleep tonight without Loki being nearby.

A beat, Loki exhaling, “fine.”

Maybe Loki knows this too.

They head to the opposite wing, further and further away from his parents, Loki tailing behind him through the dark corridor.

Thor opens his door for him, and the low light coming from the little lamp he left on fills him with relief.

He puts his shoes by the door, “leave yours here too,” he says to Loki, “I will take them to the front door in a second.”

He hears Loki shuffle about as he steps into his closet, trying to find a shirt and a pair of sleeping pants for Loki.

He finds the pants quickly, faded black, cotton, it will do for tonight, but he has to dig more for a shirt that would fit Loki, and in the end he only finds a sweater that should be a part of a tracksuit, but Thor hasn’t seen the rest of the set in years.

“Here,” he says, turning, finding Loki leaning against his desk, “change into these while I get you something to eat.”

Loki nods as he takes the clothes off his hands.

Thor creeps back into the corridor, shoes in both hands, setting them down by the doorway, then heads towards the kitchen.

He thinks about pouring a bowl of cereal, but he doesn’t want to give it to Loki with cold milk, and the microwave is so loud it would wake the whole town up, so that’s out of the question. He washes his hands, then starts searching in the cabinets, finding all kinds of junk food, but he would rather Loki eat something more filling. On the counter he finds a few scones he left from breakfast, and in the pantry a jar of blueberry jam, unopened. The kind that has a little red dotted hat on top of it with a ribbon tied around it, bought at the nice old lady’s booth at the farmers market. _How are you dear, I’m good, thank you, thank you_.

As he opens the drawer to grab a spoon he thinks he hears the floor creak behind him and he stops dead, like _he_ was the one who snuck out at night. He turns slowly, looking around, the moonlight shining in through windows, catching on the walls, the shelves, the chairs, but no one is here with him. He feels like he is in a dollhouse.

He hurries back to his room, balancing the scones and jam in one hand, and opens the door with his other holding the spoon. He manages.

Loki it sitting on the edge of his bed, clothes changed, looking at something on his phone – the screen cracked – but when Thor steps in, he looks up at him.

“I didn’t know you called,” he says. Those eyes of his. Thor looks away.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, leaning back against the door slowly, until it clicks shut, “I figured after the twentieth missed call that you wouldn’t pick it up, so I stopped.”

“Twenty-four,” corrects him Loki, and Thor thinks he can see a small smile, but Loki is turning away to put his phone on the nightstand.  

“What did you bring?” Loki turns back to him, reaching up with eager hands, and suddenly Thor believes that they can move on from this night.

“Scones and jam,” Thor answers, handing it to him. Loki puts the plate on his knees, then takes the jam and spoon from Thor, humming low. Satisfied, then.

Thor climbs into the bed behind him, stretching out his arms, his knee bumping into Loki’s bony back. He brings up his left leg, foot on the bed so Loki can lean against his thigh while he eats.

“Finally,” he sighs, deep, his eyes slipping shut, feeling Loki’s warmth seep into him through their clothes. He hears Loki rip off the cover from the jam and he smiles up at the ceiling.

“Thor,” says Loki, but Thor doesn’t answer him right away. Twenty-four missed calls.

“Thor,” Loki says again, has the gall to be impatient already, and leans harder against Thor, “I know you aren’t sleeping, don’t pretend.”

“What?” groans Thor.

“Open it for me,” Loki says, placing the jam on his palm.

Thor grouses, blinking his eyes open, bringing the jar up on his stomach and twisting the lid off with a small fight. He is so tired.

“Here,” he holds out the jam until Loki takes it from him, then tosses the lid on the nightstand.

Thor hears the spoon clinking against the glass, and he turns his head a little to see Loki scooping a good amount onto the plate, then two more, _drenching_ the scones with it, the jam looking deep purple, striking and royal.

“Isn’t that a little too much?” he asks, watching Loki lick the spoon.

“No,” Loki answers, licking his lips too before taking a big bite of the scone. The blueberry paints his lips.

Thor brings himself up on his elbow, propping his head on his palm, curling around Loki. It's always so satisfying to watch him eat, his appetite apparent in every move, the way he eyes his food, his tongue licking at the seams of his mouth, chasing the flavour. Greedy, greedy.

“Hey, let me have a taste,” Thor says, and Loki rolls his eyes at him.

“Should’ve got your own,” he says, scraping some jam from the plate, the spoon glinting in his hand as he brings it up to his mouth.

“Don’t be selfish,” murmurs Thor and he reaches over to close his hand over Loki’s, gently tugging until he can feed himself.

It's good. It's _really, very, very_ good.

Loki must see it on his face, because he fixes him with a look, “I’m not giving you more.”

Thor still hasn’t let him go, “one more, and I will leave you alone.”

Loki squints at him, and Thor feels his mouth pull to a lopsided smile.

“Fine, you glutton,” Loki snaps, letting Thor take the spoon to scrape up more jam, “see if I starve to death because of you.”

Thor hums, patting Loki’s hip as he leans back down on his pillow, the jam sweet on his tongue, “You and your big heart.”

Loki snorts, but Thor meant it. He really did.

Loki finishes soon, and Thor hears him put the plate on the nightstand, then he leans back against Thor’s leg with a pleased sigh.

“Good?” asks Thor, his eyes closed.

“Good.”

Thor tastes that word coming from Loki’s mouth like the jam on his tongue, syrupy and lovely and he is left wanting for more.

But he gathers up some energy, opening his eyes, finding that crack on his ceiling he has no memory of it never being there, “we have to brush our teeth,” he says, glancing at Loki, shining soft and quiet in the low light.

Loki grumbles, “i’m too lazy.”

“I know, I am too,” huffs out a laugh Thor, sitting up, nudging Loki as he climbs out.

Thor only flicks on the lights above the mirrors in his bathroom, he doesn’t want to go blind with more after the dark of the corridor. He finds a spare toothbrush for Loki, red, transparent and cheap plastic. Loki says he could just go get his own, but Thor doesn’t want him walking around. He knows his mom, she worries about Loki anyway, she would hear him up and about in the dead of the night and she would check on him.

Thor sits on the edge of the bathtub while brushing his teeth, his arm heavy and sluggish. The burnout he gets from being on edge for hours, and in the end not having anything for him to spend on his pent up energy. He will be antsy tomorrow.

Loki leans over the sink to spit, rising his mouth with tap water, and Thor watches as his back bows while he washes his face, water running down his arms until it reaches the scrunched up sweater at his elbows, not caring about it, his hair wet at the temples, getting some on the tips too, around his ears, not caring about any of it at all. What a mess.

Loki looks over him, leaning on his hands on the washbasin, water dripping down his face, eyebrow raised impatiently, “are you planning on sitting there all night?”

Thor bites down on his toothbrush, hard, before answering, “no.” Somehow he makes it sound like a question.

Loki gestures him _hurry up then_ , flapping his hand, flicking water on Thor. Thor sighs and stands.

“Wall-side is mine,” says Loki, when they get back to his room, already jumping in bed.

Thor brings out a spare blanket from his closet, dropping it on Loki, completely covering him, “so you won't take my blanket too,” he says, amused, when Loki wrestles himself out from under.

Thor turns off his bedside lamp, the dark snapping its jaw around them with a hard click, and his eyes are closed before he even hits the bed. He wriggles his hands under his pillow, presses his face in it. He feels like he has aged ten years.

He hears Loki shuffling, then, “Thor.”

“No,” he answers.

Loki thumps something on the bed, his feet, his fist, “You left the curtains open.”

Thor peeks out. He did.

“I’m not getting up,” he says, burrowing his head further into his pillow.

“I just got comfortable,” says Loki.

Thor smiles a little, “That’s nice, Loki, me too.”

Silence, then Loki muttering and tossing and turning around, “the sun will wake you up too early and I’m not, _not_ , dealing with you being cranky all morning,” he complains, but then Thor feels the bed dip beside him.

“Get up then–” his breath rushes out of him in a grunt as Loki clambers over him, his hands and knees digging into his back. Loki successfully palms a bruise on his lower back.

Thor peeks out again, to see Loki reaching up to grab the curtains. It's eerie, seeing him like this, moonlight halo all around his body, a dark shape in silver lining. The neon lady from the bar comes alive in Thor’s mind, vibrant and offensive, and how easily Loki’s shape washes over that image, calming the slowly returning buzzing in Thor.

Loki climbs back, but this time much more gentle, navigating over Thor with care. Thor stays turned away from him, closing his eyes again, but then the buzzing returns, and Thor sees the road before him again, dark and unwelcoming, Loki’s back, the damned sign that invites them back, even though Thor can't imagine himself setting foot into that town again without his bones shaking under his skin, but he will have to. He will have to. Loki’s gaze on the terrace. His too smart eyes.

“Loki,” Thor turns on his back, and he follows the thin silver line that sneaks in between the curtains, a single stripe from a tiger made of burnt out stars, draping over their blankets, connecting them together.

Loki was already facing him, and he hums, opening his eyes.

“Listen, if I said anything tonight that–” Thor swallows, looking back up at the ceiling, not knowing how to continue. Not knowing what he wants. “If I was too harsh, or insensitive, it was not my intention–

Loki speaks over him, his hand falling on Thor’s chest, his palm burning through his shitty shirt full of holes, and God it hurts, “I thought you were tired.”

“I just don’t know how–” Thor starts, but restarts again, “If you guys need money, we can give, you don’t have to do this.”

“We don’t. Thor, it's okay.”

Thor almost laughs. It's not.

“Do you do this at home too?” Loki wrapped a small town around his pinky in no time, Thor can only imagine how he must be thriving in New York.

Loki shrugs.

“Loki–”

“Not really. Sometimes.” Loki tightens his hand on his chest, but relaxes again, “it's complicated, Thor. I don’t know. Don’t ask.”

Thor breathes in and nods, “okay.”

They stay silent for a while, but Loki must feel how Thor’s heart tries to leap out of his chest, it beats deep and relentless.

“I know you were scared,” says Loki softly, and it sounds like an apology. Feels like gratitude. “Plus Frigga told me you’ve been jumpy lately about that match of yours, so I understand,” he continues, flicking his chin, and Thor can hear the curl of a smile in his voice. Thor laughs weakly, catching Loki’s hand, holding it against his chest.

“It's nothing serious, just a few rounds.” It's just a hobby.

“Sure,” drawls Loki, slipping his hand free, touching the scar on his brow with light fingers. He got it a few years back with a very well timed right hook, and a surprising amount of blood.

“I could come with,” Loki pats his cheek, “talk your ears off on the ride there, get you all annoyed. It does you wonders before you have to beat someone up.”

Thor grins, “I’m covered on that front, I’m picking up Balder the day before. He will drive us back.” Thor looks down at Loki, “he is bringing his new girlfriend, they will stay for about a week.”

Loki mutters, “fantastic.”

Thor covers Loki’s hand on his cheek, and turns to face him, the sheets rustling, him smiling, feeling all kinds of good, quiet and tender, “it will be fun.”

“Mhm,” Loki scratches his fingers over his stubble, making Thor’s skin tingle from head-to-toe.

The thin line of moonlight shines on the tips of Loki’s hair, just above his shoulder. Thor takes one lock between his fingers, idly playing with it. It's still damp. He wonders if he were to squeeze tight enough, would he get droplets of moonlight running down his fingers.

Such a strange kid, others his age hoard gaudy lighters and party wristbands, while Loki collects strangers’ gullibility, their touches and their sighs like a connoisseur, calculating their currency as he sees fit.

Such a strange kid, Thor thinks, exhaling, closing his eyes, running his hand through Loki’s hair, his fingers gently catching, feeling like he just dipped his hand into the night sky. Such a strange kid, Thor thinks, and wonders if there is love on this earth that is just as strange, as stubborn, as exceptional as Loki, and if it could ever be enough for him.

+

Thor is thirsty, his skin too hot as he slowly comes to. He is tangled in a heap of blankets, his feet might be hanging off from the side of the bed. He blinks open his eyes. It's still night. Loki is under him on his back, Thor half on top of him, his blanket between them. No wonder he is burning up. He moves a bit, his lips brushing Loki’s neck, and he feels Loki’s arms resting around him, warm, so warm.

Thor takes a deep breath, trying to wake himself. He is very thirsty. He slowly frees his left hand from under Loki’s back, prickling with the sudden rush of blood, then his other from under the pillow.

As he leans further into the hollow of Loki’s neck his eyes fall shut, but then he remembers again that he is thirsty. Right. Loki still smells like the stifling air of the bar. Smoke, spilled drinks and dollar bills. Crumpled fives and tens and a twenty. Opening his eyes, Thor starts to push himself up a little, and Loki’s hands on his back move, sliding down to his neck, heavy with sleep, his head tipping towards Thor, his eyelashes trembling.

“Just me,” Thor soothes him, nosing Loki’s cheek, gently taking Loki’s hands from his shoulders, “just me.”

He slips from the bed, in the dark corridor wrestles his shirt off so he can breathe again, in the bathroom drinks straight from the tap, one hand clutching his shirt, and it rings in his head, over and over again, but he doesn’t know why. _Just me, just me, just me._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ilu
> 
> comments and kudos make me cry pls throw them at me with full speed


End file.
